


A Length of Silk

by LumosLyra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Cock Bondage, Dom/sub, Domme!Pansy, F/M, Fluff, If You Squint - Freeform, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Plot Twist, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shibari, Some Plot, Squirting, Sub!Ron, Swingers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:42:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26563060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LumosLyra/pseuds/LumosLyra
Summary: The Ministry-Appointed-Marriages were what started these parties. And while she was normally content to bed her own husband, twice each month Pansy Parkinson-Nott had the pleasure of sinking her fingers into the sumptuous blood-orange hair on Ronald Weasley’s head and putting him on his knees.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Pansy Parkinson/Ron Weasley, Theodore Nott/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 18
Kudos: 48
Collections: Farewell to Summer: The 31 Flavors of Smut





	A Length of Silk

**Author's Note:**

> Hey lovelies! I had so much fun participating the 31 Flavours: Farewell to Summer fest put on by KoraKwidditch, FaeOrabel, and WordsmithMusings! My prompts were: swingers, cock-bondage, and orange sherbet. Much love to Curly_Kay for being the best alpha ever!

It was the colour of his hair that first caught her eye. When the candlelight hit it just so, it reminded Pansy of her favourite blood-orange sherbet from Fortescue’s. The colour was rich and the slight curls sitting atop the close-cropped sides begged for her fingers to tug at his scalp until the much taller man sunk to his knees before her. 

Perhaps that’s why she pursued him above all of the other potential play things. They may have called him  _ King  _ on the Quidditch Pitch, but in her bedroom, Pansy reigned and he was all too happy to prostrate himself at her feet and let her have her own wicked way with him. 

He was married, of course. They all were, but that was the point of these little gatherings. Merlin knew her own husband had bedded several of the women and a handful of the men present, but Pansy kept her favourites close. She was what one might call  _ particular.  _

Exacting. 

Demanding. 

Precise. 

And while she was normally content to bed her own husband, twice each month she had the pleasure of sinking her fingers into the sumptuous blood-orange hair on Ronald Weasley’s head and putting him on his knees. 

She and Theodore parted ways almost as soon as they stepped past the receiving room in the Manor where Draco and Astoria had begun having these little gatherings nearly two years prior. Pansy plucked a glass of champagne by the stem from a floating tray near the entrance to the parlour and entered the richly decorated room. 

She surveyed the night’s offerings, raising the glass to her crimson-stained lips to sip the bubbly liquid. Luna was positioned comfortably between Dean and Blaise on the leather sofa while their respective spouses quietly conversed near one of the far windows. Luna’s wife sat perched on the lap of Draco Malfoy, the pretty redhead laughing at something he said. Hermione and Astoria were found near the shelves of books lining the far wall while Harry was tugging playfully at one of Lavender’s curls, her cheeks already flushed. Pansy’s own husband had managed to join Cormac and Greg, though Cho was nowhere to be found nor was Ronald. 

Pansy didn’t dare let her disappointment show that her favourite redhead appeared to be otherwise occupied, though her discontent was short-lived when she felt a hand settle against her waist and the familiar scent of his cologne filled her senses. 

Dark hair brushed her shoulders when she turned her head, taking in the sight of each muted freckle dotting the sun-tanned skin of his nose. What would people think if they knew Pansy Parkinson-Nott knew exactly how the stubbled cheeks of the fourth-best Qudiditch Keeper in the league felt between her legs. Or how his perfect, beloved Ministry wife liked to watch as he was bound, gagged, and  _ fucked  _ by another witch. 

“Hey, Pansy.” 

“Ronald.” She took another sip of the champagne, the cool liquid in complete juxtaposition of the warm feeling of his hand through the fabric of her dress. She suppressed the shiver that threatened to creep over her spine. 

He stepped around, her gaze following him until he was more in front of her than behind, his hand still lingering at her waist. “How’ve you been?” 

“Do you really want to stand here and make small talk, Weasley?” 

A deep rumble of quiet laughter vibrated from his chest and she could almost feel the echoes of it against her skin. Pansy loved her husband, but Morgana help her if she didn’t want to keep the man in front of her locked in her bedroom until the end of days. 

“No, I suppose not—” He leaned in, lips brushing against the shell of her ear, “— _ Mistress.”  _

She’d never required him to call her that specific honorific, but it always made her flush a bit when it rolled off of the tip of his tongue so easily. She suspected he learned it from the myriad of books she knew were in Hermione Granger-Weasley’s private library and she was always happy to allow him use of the term. Pansy hid her pleasure in another small sip of champagne and offered nothing more than a non-committal hum. 

“Follow,” Pansy said, forcing her voice to remain neutral and in control. She could drop this particular persona later when they lay together in the quiet, sated and sore, but she had plans for this man tonight that required complete concentration and she wasn’t about to let his easy-going, teasing demeanor stop her from enacting those plans. 

Her bare arm brushed against the soft fabric of his dark henley, her heels clicking on the hardwoods as she stepped out of the room. She didn’t pause, except to discard her half-empty glass of champagne on a metal serving tray. She didn’t bother plucking a bottle of  _ Smythe’s Superior Sobering Potion _ from the same tray since the alcohol in her system wasn’t nearly enough to make her feel even the least bit tipsy. 

His heavy steps matched her own as she passed through the familiar halls of Malfoy Manor to the set of rooms that had been hers since she was a girl. She’d retained them at Narcissa’s request, even after her betrothal contract was dissolved with the passing of Ministry Decree Number 1829, and later at Draco’s request following his Ministry-Appointed Marriage under Ministry Decree Number 1837 to Astoria Greengrass. 

The Ministry-Appointed-Marriages were what started these parties. 

She loved Theodore and one day, she would give him an heir and a spare, but sexually they were mildly compatible, at best. The sex was fine and there was plenty of it, but Pansy craved control and that wasn’t something Theodore was willing to give her, not to the level she desired it. Theodore needed sensation, or lack thereof, and an extra partner—something Pansy would only allow in their bedroom once in a harvest moon. Similarly, Draco and Astoria each had different needs, as did the rest of the players in their group. 

So, while the Ministry did a fair job at matching spouses based on emotional, ideological, and intellectual compatibility, they hadn’t even considered sexual compatibility. 

A press of her hand to the intricately carved oak door dismantled the locking charm and the door swung freely on its hinges, allowing Pansy and her companion to pass freely into the familiar space. Removing her wand from the holster around her thigh, Pansy turned ignoring where Ron knelt just to the left of center and focused on casting her usual set of wards on the door. 

When she was satisfied with her charm work, her heels sank into the plush carpet as she crossed the warm space to unlock the bedside table. There was no use in leaving everything at home. If, on the off chance, she needed what was stored in the drawer she could easily pop over to the Manor or make a quick trip to  _ Maison Mystere _ in Diagon Alley. 

As it were, the implements were exactly where she had left them two weeks prior. With a flick of her wand, they flew from the drawer and arranged themselves in a neat order before her, floating in the air for her to pluck what she needed for tonight’s bit of fun. She surveyed the contents for several moments, the hint of a smirk upon her lips when she heard Ron’s quiet intake of breath from across the room.

A simple black leather riding crop.

The bottle of lubricant.

A length of rough jute rope. 

A roll of silky black ribbon. 

The medium plug. 

She sent the rest back into the drawer before carefully arranging her chosen items on the bedside table. Just thinking about the items laid out and the man kneeling behind her made an eager heat pool in her core. 

When she turned, finally allowing herself a moment to view the man kneeling before her, the warmth in her core cooled when she observed the tightness in his shoulders and the strain in his neck. She quickly moved to his side, sinking to her knees and brushing her fingers through the blood-orange waves at the crown of his head. 

“Ron, tell me what’s wrong.” Concern coloured her voice, the honeyed alto tone flowing from between her painted lips in a bid to soothe him. She gently grasped his hair and tilted his head back so his bright blue eyes met her dark gaze. “You know we don’t have to do this.”

It took him a moment to find the words he wanted to say and Pansy felt immense pride at the fact that he considered his words rather than simply blurting out that he was fine and deflecting. “It’s been… a shite two weeks and I need this.” Pansy’s hand dropped to cup his stubbled cheek and he immediately leaned in to her touch. “I’m not sure I ever realized how much.” 

Her thumb swiped over the high of his cheek, the softness of the skin in direct juxtaposition to the stubble pricking at her palm. “We have plenty of time if you’d like to talk about it. You know I’m always keen to listen.” 

It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time they entered Pansy’s suite with the full intention of shagging until they could no longer move only to end up deep in conversation until sleep claimed them. 

But Ron shook his head, “I’d like to, but after.”

“After,” she confirmed with a soft smile as she leaned forward to press her painted lips against his forehead and she felt him nearly melt into her touch. She would honor his wish to continue, but the discussion needed would not be forgotten. 

Allowing her hand to fall from his cheek as she rose from where she knelt on the floor to her full height, Ron’s gaze remained fixed on her and the ritual began. 

“Tell me your safe word.” 

“Rose.” 

She repeated the word back to him, wondering about the change from ‘cannon’, but it was something she would ask about later. He could change his safeword every two weeks if he liked. She reminded him of her own, “Marigold.” 

He repeated it in turn and she took a single step closer, offering the toe of her leather heel with an extension of her leg. Their eyes remained locked until he bent so far at the waist it was impossible to hold his gaze and his lips kissed the expensive leather wrapped around her foot. 

“Tell me to whom you belong.” 

“Pansy Parkinson.” Her name rolled off of his lips without an ounce of hesitation, though rationally she knew  _ exactly _ to whom he belonged, and it wasn’t her. His wife was probably already in bed with Pansy’s own husband and a third a few rooms down, but it was nice to pretend for a few hours that this beautiful, charismatic man at her feet was hers and hers alone. 

Pansy Nott was charitable and kind, but Pansy Parkinson was selfish and didn’t fancy sharing.

“Good. Strip.” 

It was always a sight she enjoyed, watching the tall, muscular Quidditch Keeper completely disrobe. He didn’t try to put on a show or hide his body from her, he simply removed his clothing and folded each item neatly before covering the innate marquetry inlay on the mahogany occasional table near the door with the tidy stack.

There was something empowering about remaining clothed in the presence of a naked man and her eyes raked over his body, taking in each contour and dip before she allowed herself a glance at the place between his legs. His cock was heavy and flushed against his thigh, half-hard and just waiting for her fingers to coax it to attention. 

And gods, did she have plans for that cock. 

She turned and summoned the length of rope to her hand before turning her gaze back on the man before her. “Ropes tonight, okay?” 

He nodded, his eyes focused on the length draped around her hand. “Yeah, ropes are good.” 

It was something they had recently begun exploring, a fantasy she’d confessed in the midst of one of their late-night conversations before they finally drifted off, too tired to remain awake. She threaded the ropes around his body, making adjustments here and there to the knots and twists so the harness formed around him. His muscles rippled as the fibres pressed into his flesh, tightening around him in an intricate pattern, over his torso and abdomen to curl around his thighs. With a second length of rope, Pansy bound his arms behind him and she saw him visibly relax into the bondage when his movement was restricted. 

After tying off the length and trimming the end with a slicing hex, Pansy’s hand curled around his cock, stroking the magnificent length to attention and passing her thumb over the already leaking head. His eyes fluttered closed and he moaned, openly and loudly at her touch, and a pleased smile curving over her lips. 

“I’d like to try something new.” 

“Mm?” His hips rocked as he thrust into her hand and Pansy could tell he was already half-way there. 

Her hand gripped him hard and he whimpered until she gently stroked his length again, soothing the tight pressure she’d placed on his cock. “I’d like to bind this as well.” 

His eyes rolled back and he groaned, “Oh _ fuck _ . Yes, please.”

His enthusiasm brought a smile to her lips and she pressed her reddened lips against the firm muscle of his chest, summoning the ribbon to her hand with a flick of her wrist. The imprint of her affection pulsed with each thump of his heart in his chest and Pansy swallowed down the lingering regret that their encounters were restricted to these twice-monthly parties. 

Her eyes hardened as she pushed her emotions aside. There was no place for anything other than friendly affection and lust in a relationship such as theirs. 

Pansy’s fingers checked the tension of the ropes, hands leaving his cock completely. “These feel okay? Not too tight?” she asked, her fingers brushing over the curve of his arse and trailing upwards over the thick, exquisite muscles of his back. 

Ron released a shuddering breath, “They-they’re good.” 

Her eyes trailed over Ron’s bound torso as Pansy lowered herself to her knees, the criss-crossing ropes leaving subtle imprints in his perfect, pale skin. His erection bobbed before her and without grasping him in her hand, she leaned forward and her tongue swept over the weeping head, drawing a hiss from Ron. 

The head of his cock pillowed between her reddened lips, leaving her imprint there as well—a bright, red ring of ownership just below the head. With careful precision, she lapped at his tongue and began to weave the length of ribbon around his length. The inky black covered the reddened imprint and crossed down and again until more ribbon than flesh could be seen. 

He watched, apparently mesmerized at the sight of his cock resting between her lips, and she knew he was exerting all of his energy trying not to thrust into her mouth. He remained still, just barely as she tied the ribbon around the base, leaving him fully bound before releasing the head of his cock with a  _ pop _ . 

She watched the slow intake of breath and the pleasure overtake him as her hand curled around his length, fingers drawing slow strokes over the ribbon, the soft silk in complete juxtaposition with how she knew the rough ropes wound around his torso must feel. His bright blue eyes were obscured by the darkness of his pupils and tiny beads of sweat were already beginning to form at his temples. 

“Look at how exquisite you are, Ronald.” Pansy’s lips kissed the tip, drawing a bead of moisture over her lips. “Strong, beautiful,  _ perfect. _ I could keep you bound like this for days, pet, simply for my own pleasure.” 

His reaction to her words was visceral, a low growl rumbled from his chest and a shock coursed through his body, forcing his flesh to erupt in minuscule goosebumps. “Yes, yes,  _ bloody fuck _ Pansy.”

She tutted, her eyes teasing as her tongue circled the head of his cock once more. “I thought I was Mistress this evening.” 

His hips canted forward as she drew back, seeking the stimulation he so desperately craved. “I’ll call you whatever the fuck you want if you don’t―” Pansy took the head of his cock back into her mouth, tongue pressing hard against him and wetting the silk. “―fucking stop. 

“Never.” Pansy watched his muscles shift under the ropes, his arms locked behind him and she knew he was struggling, desperate to touch her. But she loved that, knowing he was under her complete control and it was at her pleasure that he remained bound. The silk wrapped around his length grew wetter with each pass of her tongue as she slowly took more of him into her mouth and only when it was completely sodden and Ron was just on the edge, did she pull back. His legs trembled and each puff of breath seemed to take an inordinate amount of effort and rush of satisfaction, of knowing that she caused this beautiful, strong man to quiver in such a way he was completely exposed, coursed through her. 

Pansy’s wand smacked against her palm and the moment she released the ropes binding his arms, he tugged her to her feet and kissed her hard. Her blunted fingernails scraped against his scalp before curling into the longer strands at the top of his head. She pulled hard, holding his mouth to hers, her lips moving against his with bruising force as her tongue drove into his mouth to taste him. 

The zip of her dress was lowered and the sumptuous fabric pushed off of her shoulders at a speed that stole her breath. It fell to the ground in a crumpled heap and she stepped out of it, backing away until the backs of her knees hit the bed, Ron’s lips never leaving hers, each pass of his lips over her frenzied in a way she’d not seen from him before. 

Her hands smacked against his chest, landing in a space not covered by the ropes and she turned them, pushing him down onto the bed before climbing atop of him, the lace covering her center scraping over his silk-bound length as she straddled his thighs. 

Ron’s body sank into the plush duvet as she felt him relax beneath her touch. As much as she wanted to devour the man beneath her, she reminded herself to wait. It would be so easy to give into her desires by vanishing his bonds and sinking down onto his length, but she wanted to draw it out, to make it memorable, enough to sustain her— _ them _ until their next shared encounter. 

In that moment, it didn’t matter what Theo was doing or whom he was doing it with and Pansy suspected that Hermione was the farthest thing from Ron’s mind when she rolled her hips over his, simultaneous sounds of pleasure falling from both of their lips. 

Ron’s hand found purchase on her thighs, his fingers digging into the supple flesh with each rock of Pansy’s hips. She reached behind her and unclasped her bra, tossing it to the side to be found in the morning. Her fingers left his heated skin and teased her nipples, pinching and tugging the sensitive buds until they ached, obscenities falling from her lover’s lips as he watched her take her pleasure.

Pansy forced herself to stop, stilling her hips and skating her fingertips over her torso and down to Ron’s. She shifted off of him to kneel next to him on the bed, her fingers hooking beneath the band of her lace knickers and tugging them down. Ron’s breath hitched at the sight of her bared and he helped guide her until her sodden center was positioned over his mouth. Rapture flooded her with the first press of his lips to her cunt, kissing and licking each fold with reverence and she leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest, fingers curling around the ropes binding him. The long, slow, hard swipes of his tongue from her clit to her core filled her with wicked desire as he buried his face against her cunt when she canted her hips in such a way that a long, dark moan was pulled from her lips. 

“Gods, Ron. Right there,  _ oh fuck. _ ”

His hands tightened around her hips, holding her against his mouth and his lips circled her clit, sucking hard until her screams of pleasure echoed off of the antique hardwoods and the evidence of her pleasure dripped down his face to make a mess of the bedding. 

Ripples of pleasure pulsed through her and she collapsed against him, her head landing on his hip and the rough ropes digging into the softness of her skin as she took a moment to catch her breath. He teased her folds with his tongue until she wiggled away from him, hand grasping his silk-covered cock in her hand, pulling a moan from his throat. 

She tugged at the knotted silk, tightening it around his length before lowering her mouth and tasting him. His shaft reared hot and hard against her hand and lips as his hips bucked upwards and her name fell from his lips in urgency that sent her mind reeling with need. Pansy summoned her wand to her hand and vanished the ropes from his body, leaving only his cock bound. Her warm, red lips wrapped around the tip, sucking and teasing the sensitive head as her fingers drifted down to curl around his bollocks. 

“ _Fuck_ _Pansy!_ Gods, stop tea—” She swatted him hard on the thigh, forcing a sudden hiss from his lips. 

“You’ll do well to remember who is in charge, Ronald Weasley or I will get out of this bed and leave you wanting.” 

An entire brigade of Hippogriffs couldn’t have dragged her from the bed if they tried, but the words still flowed from Pansy’s lips in a clipped tone that brooked no argument and she felt Ron’s body grow rigid beneath her thighs. It immediately relaxed again when she soothed her fingers over the pink handprint and lowered her head to take him inside of her mouth once more. 

She sucked at the head, tongue sweeping over his foreskin before she drew back and ran her tongue along the length of him until her lips met the dark red curls at the base. “That’s it, my pet. This cock is mine and if I want to tease it until it is painfully hard and weeping, I will.” Her hand curled around his bollocks, one finger pressing against his perineum and he moaned, low and deep and it sent a shiver of need up Pansy’s spine. 

WIth her fingers, she carefully removed the knot of silk at the base and slowly unbound his cock, leaning over him and swiping her tongue at each inch of revealed flesh until he was quivering beneath her. The dark ribbon twisted in her fingers, she gripped the base of his cock and took him into her mouth, warm tongue sliding over each sensitive inch. 

“Touch me,” she said, pulling back briefly before taking him into her mouth once more. His fingers parted her folds and she felt two prod at her entrance before sinking into her core, pressing against her walls and finding the sweet spot within. She moaned around his cock, the vibration drawing a gasp from his lips as he fucked her with his fingers, thumbing finding her clit and rubbing circles around the still sensitive nub. 

He exploded in her mouth the moment she clenched around his fingers, their tandem sounds of pleasure filling the room. She swallowed the hot, sticky fluid as her own essence flowed out of her with each thrust of his fingers. There was something primal about knowing her lover was covered in evidence of her desire and she whimpered again, each aftershock forcing a tremble down her spine. Ron tugged her hips back, drawing his tongue through her folds with gentle, patient strokes until she was boneless on top of him. 

The sounds of their breathing filed the room as they lay together in contented silence. It seemed an age later when Pansy finally rolled off of him, summoning her wand to cast a cleaning charm over the both of them, removing the sweat and slick from their bodies. She checked Ron over for any sign of injury or distress from the bonds she’d placed him in before summoning bottles of water for them both. Her body curled around him after she made certain she knew he was alright and dotted his chest with sweet kisses and quiet praises.

His arms wrapped around her and he kissed the top of her head as they lay in the glow of what Pansy suspected would be the first of many rounds tonight. 

“‘Mione’s pregnant.” 

The words he’d spoke so quietly as though he were afraid to even utter them felt like someone had picked her up and thrown her into the Black Lake in the middle of winter. Frigid tendrils curled around her and she jolted up, panic in her eyes as she met his gaze. 

“Come again?” 

He tugged her back down against him as if she were some tangible lifeline and she sunk into his embrace, her mind whirling and fragmenting as she attempted to process his words. 

“Hermione’s pregnant. It’s a girl… she saw the Healer on Monday.” His voice was small, timid and she knew he was holding something back. 

Pansy attempted to steady her voice, but his grip around her tightened and she knew she was unsuccessful. “And… Does she—does she want to stop?” The words hung between them, knowing that this might very well be their last night together. It was something even she and Theo had discussed, that once she fell pregnant with his heir, they would stop attending these parties until well after the child was born. 

“It’s not mine.” 

She couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath and she sat up, tugging the sheets up around her torso as she stared down at him. “Whose—”

“We think it’s Theo’s. She said a month or two ago they used a lust potion and it counteracted her—” Every other word he said was drowned out after the first four as the blood rushed through her ears and white filled her vision. She collapsed down onto his chest and a heaving sob tore through her throat. 

Ron just held her close as she cried, her entire, perfectly crafted word falling to pieces with those four simple words.  _ We think it’s Theo’s. _ The parties were just meant to be a bit of fun, to explore interests outside of their marriage bed, but a child… and not just any child—the child of the most beloved witch of their generation—was something else entirely. She couldn’t wrap her mind around it. 

“I set our sofa on fire when she told me.” 

Pansy couldn’t help but laugh and she wiped her tears away from her eyes with a swipe of her hand. “This is absurd.” 

A knock sounded at the door and Pansy glanced up at Ron, who shrugged his shoulders. She quickly glamoured her face, removing all evidence of her upset before she flicked her wand towards the door to her suite, dismantling the wards she set and opening the door a crack. 

The door pressed open and Hermione tentatively entered, wrapped in a white robe with her hair plaited over her shoulder. Theo entered behind her, dressed similarly, their hands clasped together. Pansy looked between them and back to Ron, who sat up on the bed beside her, his hand curling around her back to rest on her hip. 

Theo closed the door and Hermione tugged him further into the room, her voice uncertain. “Can we talk? We have a proposition.” 

  
  



End file.
